


legends and myths

by LadyKG



Series: Stupid "Short" Crossovers [1]
Category: Bleach, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter x Bleach, Ichigo and Aizen get summoned by Voldie, M/M, This Is Crack Treated Seriously, author is biased because of love of characters, crossovers, do not copy to another site, i don't know what to tag, it doesn't go as planned for anyone, purely self-indulgent, this is meant to be short, we'll see how well that turns out tho, will add tags later i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27470191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKG/pseuds/LadyKG
Summary: There was a sharp pull. He barely had time to suck in a breath before everything blurred to shadows of grey and black with reiatsu that felt far too close to the dangai licking at his skin.When the world came back into view Ichigo’s first thought was that he’d somehow been kidnapped by a deranged cult.
Relationships: Aizen Sousuke/Kurosaki Ichigo, Canon HP Relationships
Series: Stupid "Short" Crossovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007040
Comments: 52
Kudos: 446





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short little drabble… and now, here we are… Really, there are like three things I want from this fic; Voldie summoning a very confused Ichigo, Ichigo and Aizen having to deal with Umbridge, and an AizenxIchigo pairing because I am trash. But there is, reasonably, so much that has to happen for all of those things to happen with the same pacing/flow I’ve already set up and I am going to scream…  
> Fair warning, I might just write this as three to four drabbles…

Ywach was dead.

Dead and gone and not coming back and all three worlds were safer for it.

It was a weight off Ichigo’s chest. And looking at his friends, all gathered in the Soul King’s palace, huddled in whispering groups as they tended to the wounded, Ichigo couldn’t help but give a soft smile. They were alive. They were safe. The war was over, and they could all go home.

“Kurosaki,” Orihime’s voice dragged him from his thoughts and he turned to her. “I’ve done all I can, he should wake up soon.”

“Thank you, Orihime,” he said, because she hadn’t _needed_ to help him. Could have easily said no and no one would have faulted her for it. Who could, when it was _Aizen_ that lay prone across the floor with newly healed wounds? They had released him some time ago, with the hope that combining his and Ichigo’s strengths would end the war.

It hadn’t, but it had evened the odds.

No one had liked it back then, and not many liked it now. But Ichigo wasn’t about to let Aizen suffer a missing arm after all he had done to help defeat Ywach.

Orihime had just opened her mouth, most likely to offer to heal his wounds as well when there was a sharp pull. He barely had time to suck in a breath before the world blurred to shadows of grey and black with reiatsu that felt far too close to the dangai licking at his skin. His feet hit solid ground at the same that Shiro’s blade dug into the floor to offer a modicum of balance – it was all he could do to stay on his feet. It hadn’t been _that_ long since the final battle and to say his reiatsu levels were low was an understatement. To say he was _exhausted_ was like saying Yoruichi was only a little fast.

When the world came back into view Ichigo’s first thought was that he’d somehow been kidnapped by a deranged cult.

(He would, soon, find out that it wasn’t all that far from the truth.)

A group stood around him, all in black cloaks and most with hoods drawn up. At his feet was a circle of symbols, most he didn’t recognize, but the one at the center of the rather large space was most definitely a hell-butterfly. And… was that _blood_? He really hoped not.

It took him another few seconds to realize Aizen had been dragged along as well; still knocked out. Ichigo didn’t doubt that whatever had been done to bring them here hadn’t helped with that either.

“What the hell is going on?” He muttered to himself, eying the ones around him warily.

“I believe I can answer that,” a voice hissed out from behind him, and Ichigo was spinning around, Ossan’s blade raised and ready to strike even as Shiro’s still supported his uncertain balance. What he found only cemented his earlier assumption; definitely a cult. The person, who looked so much like a snake that Ichigo wasn’t sure he should be calling them that, stood before him in the way Aizen had stood before the espada… no, more like the way Kurotsuchi stood before a new specimen. What was odder was the fact he could _understand_ them. He knew they were speaking English, could hear that and while he had taken classes and knew enough to survive there was no way he would understand it this clearly.

“Who are you and how can I understand you?”

“I-,” the snake-faced man tipped his head up, if he had had a nose it would be in the air, “-am Lord Voldemort. As for how you understand me… interpretations spells are simple for someone as powerful as me.”

Ichigo blinked, “Spells?”

“Magic,” the man sniffed, imperious.

Ichigo snorted at that. Really, _magic._ Then again, it wasn’t the strangest thing to happen in his life. Perhaps the man was talking about kido. But no, they were clearly alive and only Shinigami could perform that. Perhaps- “Are you quincy?”

“We are wizards and witches,” Voldemort said with narrowed eyes. “What is a quincy?”

The question was more of a demand but Ichigo ignored it because _what_? If the man wanted to claim magic then fine, but was he really trying to pull off saying he was a _wizard_? Still, it was a relief that they weren’t more of Ywach’s followers.

“Look, snake-face,” Ichigo said, “I don’t know how the hell you and your cult dragged us here, but we’re leaving.” With that announcement he swung Shiro up and over his shoulder, despite how it made it harder to stand, and took several steps back, enough that he was beside Aizen. It would be difficult to carry him, but he wasn’t going to leave him with these people.

“I don’t believe you understand your situation,” snake-face hissed, stepping forward. Ichigo watched with a deepening scowl as the cultists around them seemed to suck in a breath at the man’s tone of voice. Fear. They were _afraid_ of what snake-face would do.

“And what’s that?”

“ _I_ summoned you,” snake-face said like this had any significance. “You must obey me.”

“Yeah, hard pass.”

Red eyes stormed, and Ichigo watched with no small amount of confusion as a _stick_ was pointed at him as if it were a blade. It wasn’t hard to realize that it was supposed to be a _wand_ and that these people were really not pulling any stops with the whole ‘we’re wizards’ part of their cult. It wasn’t until a beam of red light was shooting from its tip, heading straight for him and Aizen, that he thought there may be some truth to their claims.

Which _what_?

Was no one going to tell him that magic was _real_? Was he supposed to find it out after being summoned by a crazy, snake-faced wizard who wanted him to do as he said?

When he got back home he was going to have a very _long_ and _violent_ talk with Urahara. He was also going to thank Yoruichi for putting him through her flash-step training because it was all that saved him from being blasted in the face.

Ducking down he dragged Aizen up and pushed into the fastest shunpo he could manage. As he crossed over the outer circle, something shattered around him, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Especially not after hearing the angry hiss that followed.

“Stop them!”

The room lit up like a light show.

Ichigo cursed under his breath as he nearly got hit with a spell as he ducked around a hallway and tried to find some stairs – there hadn’t been any windows in that room and there weren’t any here either, so it would make sense that they’d be in a basement of some kind. Another shunpo and one more corridor down had Ichigo nearly sighing in relief at the sight of stairs.

Wasting no time, he took them as fast as he could. “This would be so much easier if you were awake,” he muttered as they came to the top. It was easy to find a window from there, and one strike of his blade had it shattering.

The sound of shouts grew louder at that. Ichigo belatedly realized he could no longer clearly understand what they were saying, although they did sound rather angry.

Great.

Leaving one war just to piss off a bunch of magical wizard-cultists who probably wanted to take over the world. Just his luck.

He flash-stepped out the window and didn’t look back. It wasn’t all that far to the tree line and soon the were shuffling through the trees, his reiatsu so low that black spots were starting to encroach around the edges of his vision. With a frustrated growl he pushed through for another few minutes, but luck simply wasn’t on his side and the world went black around him.

The last thing he felt was strong arms wrapping around his waist.

_Shit_ , he thought, did they find them?

Ichigo woke up slowly, his mind fuzzy and while he could feel his reiatsu levels were better, they were far from what they normally were. The first thing he noticed was the fact he was in a bed. The second was the odd not-reiatsu that hung in the air around him, weighted in a way reishi never was.

As he opened his eyes it was to a room he didn’t recognize and the sight of Aizen sat in a chair by the opposite wall.

_Damn._

“So that wasn’t a dream?”

“I’m afraid not,” Aizen said. “We’re in a hotel in London, if you were wondering. The Leaky Cauldron.”

“How did we even get here?” The last thing he remembered was passing out in the woods somewhere.

“I brought us here.”

“But you- you were awake?!”

Aizen simply raised a brow, “Of course.”

“I carried you out of there for nothing!”

“Hardly,” Aizen snorted, “if they had managed to catch us, it would have been an advantage if they thought I was indisposed.”

The explanation did nothing for his scowl or rolling anger, but there were more important things to focus on, “Then I don’t need to tell you about what they said.”

“That they’re wizards…” Aizen stood up. “The Shinigami have known about wizards for a long time, but when we discovered they couldn’t affect the balance between the worlds we left them alone.”

“It was true then…” Ichigo huffed, falling back onto the bed as a laugh bubbled out of him. “We were summoned by a _wizard-cult_.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Aizen give a wry smile at that, a spark of humor in his eyes. “Yes, and it seems it’s caused more problems than just giving them knowledge of our existence.”

Ichigo blinked at that.

Aizen tilted his head, observing him, “Do you not feel it?”

Feel what? If he was talking about the strange heavy-reiatsu then yes, but something told Ichigo that wasn’t what Aizen meant. It took a moment, but when he found it his eyes went wide. “What _is_ that?”

“I don’t know,” Aizen revealed, “but whatever it is, it wants us to go somewhere.”

“How much to you want to bet that somewhere isn’t good?”

“Which is why we need a plan.”

Ichigo sat up straight at that; this wouldn’t be the first time they had sat down to strategize together, and if this situation was going to be anywhere near as frustrating as the quincy one, it wouldn’t be the last. “Well, you’re the expert on wizards here.”

Aizen frowned at that, “Hardly. Like I said, we left them alone. Their ghosts rarely hollowfied, probably due to their magic, and once we figured out we could not replicate it Shinigami collectively decided to avoid them. Which begs the question; how did they summon us? Wherever this pull wants us to go…”

“…Might have answers,” Ichigo finished on a sigh. After a moment he pushed himself to his feet, “There’s no point waiting, then.”

Aizen hummed, “How’s your reiatsu?”

“Maybe half,” he said with a shrug.

Aizen continued to eye him, an odd calculating look on his face, “Then we’ll need to tread carefully. When we get close enough we can create a more solid plan.”

After that announcement, Ichigo ducked into the connected bathroom to freshen up before picking up his blades. They left the room, staggered down a set of twisting stairs and out into a quiet pub; clearly shut down for the night. “What time is it?”

“Around three in the morning,” Aizen revealed. “You’ve been asleep for a day.”

“And you were just sitting there the whole time?” Ichigo asked with narrowed eyes. It made in wonder, really. Because for all that Aizen helped them defeat Ywach is was a means to an end; the end being freedom from his prison if only for a short time. So why hadn’t he left? No one knew they were here, and even if Urahara was working on tracking them down after the disappeared Aizen could have slipped off into the night and escaped his prison. While it would have been a life on the run, it would probably be preferable to what he was promised by staying.

Aizen snorted, drawing Ichigo from his thoughts, “No. I looked around. We’re right next to a wizard community, Diagon Alley, but the pull is taking us away from it.”

“Do you think it’ll take us back to that house?”

“No,” Aizen said, shaking his head as they ducked out into the streets of London. “It was much worse in the woods.”

Well, at least that was a relief. Small mercies and all that.

And small mercy it was as they ended up spending the day weaving through London’s streets. Spending all that time with Aizen wasn’t the worst of it. They had spent enough time on and off the battlefield together that the silence settling between them was not just comfortable but _comforting_ in a way. No, the worst part was definitely the pull. Ichigo had been too distracted to truly notice it the other night, but now he could say with certainty that he _didn’t like it._ It was persistent and annoying, a constant itch under his skin that kept drawing his eyes in one direction. The sooner it was gone the better.

By the time they reached their destination, Ichigo was more confused than anything else. “You see that too, right?”

Aizen hummed, gaze still locked on the way the house seemed to melt into those around it, as if it weren’t really there. It reminded Ichigo of one of Aizen’s illusions, and when he said as much it earned him a disdainful sniff, “As if _humans_ could compete with me.”

“Whatever.” Ichigo shrugged, a crooked, humored, smile on his face, “What’s the plan?”

“We observe.”

And so they spent the next few hours watching the house. A few people came and went, but for the most part there was little activity outside. It was boring, and the only real break in the afternoon was when a hollow would float by, attracted to their reiatsu. Which only left Ichigo with more questions; why were there fewer hollows here? He knew Karakura was strange with how many hollows appeared, but in such a big city… Perhaps the odd not-reiatsu repelled them? When he asked Aizen the man only told him that it had been a theory back when Shinigami were studying wizards, but it had never been confirmed.

Another hour passed before Ichigo got to his feet, “We’re not going to learn anything out here, I’m going in.”

“Of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m surprised it took this long is all,” Aizen said with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, I can be patient!”

Aizen snorted, already walking across the street.

“Oi! Get back here!”

“Time waits for no man,” Aizen called back. “And we have a mystery to solve.”

Ichigo was going to strangle him and _no one_ would blame him. They’d probably give him a medal.

Still, Aizen waited for him by the door, a pensive look on his face. And Ichigo could understand why; the not-reiatsu – _magic,_ really and he should start calling it that – was thick here. Layered like a shield. “Will it break if we go through?” He didn’t remember everything from the other night, but he remembered the way something shattered when he left the circle, remembered how the magic had been layered there was well.

“It shouldn’t,” Aizen said quietly.

“Won’t know unless we try, I guess.” And with that he pushed forward, phasing through the door and into a long, thankfully empty, hallway. There was noise from a room ahead and to their right, and Ichigo noted how the odd pull was insistent in leading them there.

Taking a cautious step forward Ichigo looked around more closely; the walls were dark and much of the area seemed old. Dusty in a way that spoke of years of neglect that was only recently being righted. There were shrunken heads – hopefully fake, but at this point Ichigo doubted it – lining the hallway and a door that led to an empty sitting room to his right.

He’d only just taken another step, Aizen right behind him, when there was a shout from ahead of them. “There it is again!” A man cried out, and Ichigo knew enough English to understand that. He glanced back at Aizen, wondering if they had been discovered so soon.

“Sit down, Sirius,” a woman scolded. “You’ve being going on about that all day.”

“Well you would too, if you felt it.”

The conversation moved on. Ichigo and Aizen waited another minute, breath caught, but no one came out to catch them.

They were safe for now.

Taking another step forward Ichigo felt his foot hook onto something that _definitely_ hadn’t been there before, and while Aizen reached to steady him it still caused the- was that an umbrella stand – and did its foot just _move_? – to scrape across the wooden floor.

All hell promptly broke loose.

In the other room, chairs scraped as people rose to their feet, there was shouting, and orders being tossed around so fast Ichigo couldn’t catch any enough to parse through the English. A curtain at the end of the hall opened on its own and a portrait of a woman started to _scream_ bloody murder.

“We need to _move_ ,” Aizen whispered, harsh against his ear, his hand still a vice on Ichigo’s arm. Only, it was too late. A man came into the hall, wand pointed at them and eyes blazing. Or, _eye_ and some odd mechanical one that seemed to move on its own. And all at once Aizen was in front of him, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Who the hell are you two and how did you get in here?”

More people joined him soon enough and Ichigo had the distinct urge to raise his arms to show he meant no harm. It wasn’t until a tall man with brown hair and a mustache came out, their eyes locking, that Ichigo said anything. “It’s him.”

“I noticed,” Aizen said. “Do you think-.”

“It’s you!” The man exclaimed. Well, that answered that question.

“You know these people?” The one who had gotten there first asked, wand not wavering, even as the strange eye on his face roved over them. “Whatever they are, they have the strangest magic I’ve ever seen.”

“They’re the ones causing the weird itch.”

“How do you know that?” Someone else asked.

“I-,” the man started, but stopped, brows furrowed. “I just know.”

“That ain’t good enough,” Crazy-eye snapped. “I say we get rid of them.”

“Dumbledore, what do you think?” A redheaded woman spoke up, her voice similar to the one that had scolded the man – Sirius – before.

“I believe we can settle this peacefully. Don’t you all agree?”

As the group spoke, Ichigo dared to glance at Aizen, their eyes meeting for a brief moment but it was all they needed. It seemed they wouldn’t be running. Drawing himself up, Ichigo took a cautious step forward, “Uh, hello?” He said in English, his accent thick.

At the sound of his voice the hallway fell quiet.

“My name is Kurosaki Ichigo, and this is Aizen Sousuke,” he said, hoping that he wasn’t butchering this too badly.

“Perhaps,” the one with a long white beard – Dumbledore he thought the others called him – started, “it would be best if we moved this to a more comfortable location.”

Ichigo just stared back, completely lost as to what the man had said. All he understood was ‘best’, ‘move’ and ‘comfortable’.

“Ah, I see.” Dumbledore gave a rather serene smile before bringing his wand up causing both himself and Aizen to tense. “No need for that, just a simple interpretation spell.” The man swished his wand, but nothing seemed to happen. “Is that better?”

Oh, it was the same thing the snake-faced man had done, then. “I- yes, thank you,” Ichigo said. “Our English is not the best.”

“No worries, young man. Well then, let us move this party to the living room, shall we?”

Nobody moved at first, even when Dumbledore disappeared into the empty room that Ichigo had noticed earlier. Not that Ichigo could fault them, if he had a snake-faced man running around the way they did… Well, he supposed he _did_ have that now.

“Come on,” he said with a roll of his eyes, tugging on Aizen’s arm to get him to move. If the others weren’t going to go in first, then they might as well show some good will and do it. Which, of course, Aizen had to go and ruin by _not letting go of his sword_.

Ichigo sat in the chair nearest the window, Aizen coming to stand beside him. If they needed to escape it would be easiest from here, and he had no doubt that Dumbledore and Crazy-eye both noticed.

There was a round of introductions as everyone settled. The most important of which was learning that the man their pull was pointing to was named Sirius Black. “I must say, we weren’t expecting guests,” Dumbledore started, eyes glinting as he looked between them. “However did you find this place?”

“We followed the… pull.” Ichigo settled on explaining. Aizen had been, unusually, quiet and if he wasn’t going to say anything then the task settled on Ichigo and that was fine by him. Black had already mentioned feeling something weird when they had walked in and again in hall, so revealing that they felt it as well couldn’t be harmful.

“Could you describe this feeling?”

“I imagine it is similar to what Mr. Black has experienced,” Aizen pointed out before Ichigo could even open his mouth.

“And when did this feeling start?”

“Two days ago,” Ichigo said. “After we were… summoned, but some snake-faced wizard. He called himself Voldi-something.”

“Voldemort,” Aizen filled in.

“Yeah, him.”

The room changed rather abruptly, going from suspicious to cold and calculating in a second.

“I take it you’re not on good terms,” Aizen said, offering a bland smile.

“Tom Riddle, or Voldemort, is trying to take over wizarding Britain,” Dumbledore explained, his words clearly chosen carefully.

“He’s a bigoted arse who wants to persecute anyone who isn’t ‘pureblood’,” Black snorted.

“Language,” the redheaded woman, Mrs. Weasley, snapped.

“Why would You-Know-Who summon you?” Crazy-eye, or Moody, asked with a suspicious glare, “What exactly are you two?”

All eyes turned to them, and Ichigo… didn’t know what to say. Could they even tell them the truth? Did it even matter either way? Soul Society was all but in ruins and they had just won the war against Ywach. He doubted they would get in too much trouble for explaining it. Especially given the rather odd situation.

With a glance at Aizen, who rather unhelpfully, was looking to him, Ichigo hardened his resolve. “We’re Shinigami.”

For the second time that night, all hell broke loose.

There was a chorus of questions and a rather large amount of disbelief, and Ichigo couldn’t help but think back on Rukia appearing in his room that night all those years ago. Couldn’t help but remember the sketchbook and horrible drawings that she used to explain everything. He wondered if that would have gone over better than just saying it straight out.

“You expect us to believe that?” Moody huffed, wand in his hand, “Shinigami are legends. Old myths cooked up to make death less scary.”

“How is that?” Sirius snorted.

“Well, if it has a face behind it, you might be able to kill it,” Moody grumbled.

“Can you prove it?” A voice from the hallway had them all looking up. A group of teenagers were huddled there, the one who spoke – a bushy-haired girl – stood at the front.

“Yeah, you can’t expect us-.”

“-to believe you without proof. Seeing is-.”

“-believing, and all that,” two redheaded twins said cheerfully.

“What are you all doing down here?” Mrs. Weasley demanded, rising to her feet. “Didn’t we tell you to stay upstairs! It could be dangerous!”

“When nothing exploded-.”

“-we figured it was safe.”

“You- That’s it, the lot of you back upstairs this instant.”

“Let them stay, Molly,” Sirius said, shooting a smile to a boy with glasses. “This isn’t Order business, after all.”

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth, presumably to argue, when Dumbledore spoke, “It’s alright, Molly. I don’t believe these young men are any danger to us. Let them join.”

The group of teenagers, sensing that it was best to move before someone changed their mind, shuffled into the room which was quickly becoming crowded.

“How could you say that, we hardly know anything about them!”

“There is no need to worry,” Dumbledore soothed, a serene smile still plastered on his face, although Ichigo was starting to get suspicious of the way his eyes twinkled with it. “Shinigami only deal with the affairs of the dead.”

There was a pause, and then; “You believe them?!”

“You believe us?” Ichigo blurted out.

“Why of course,” Dumbledore said. “Moody’s comment about their magic, and their swords are quite compelling evidence.” The man rose to his feet, “And there is the small matter of not being able to enter their minds.”

“You tried to read my mind?” Ichigo asked at the same time as Aizen snorted out a derisive, _‘of course you couldn’t.’_

“Oh please, there are-,” but whatever Lupin was about to say was cut off by a burst of flames as someone _walked out of the fireplace._ It was pure instinct that had Ichigo jumping to his feet and crowding Aizen and himself back, his smaller blade in hand.

It was only when Dumbledore greeted the newcomer with a pleasant, “Ah, Severus, so good of you to join us,” that Ichigo let himself relax again. Although…

“You were at the cult meeting!” He exclaimed; the dark robes were the same, but what was more was Ichigo remembered several faces during his and Aizen’s escape and this man’s was one of them.

“Cult,” one of the teenagers repeated, a humored grin splitting their face as they looked at their friends.

“So this is where you got off to,” the man muttered, voice monotone and beady eyes piercing, “the Dark Lord will not be pleased.”

Before Ichigo could demand what the hell was going on, because hadn’t these people _just_ said they were against the snake-faced wizard, Dumbledore speaks up, “Then you’ll be able to provide us with some answers.”

“Indeed,” Severus intoned, “it would seem the Dark Lord wished to summon… great power and knowledge in order to… achieve his goals.” The man looked down his hooked nose at Aizen and Ichigo as if he could find neither of those things when observing them, “Your dear cousin, Bella, provided the artifact, Black. Some family heirloom.”

Sirius blinked, “What are you trying to say, Snivellus?”

“Merely that it would make everyone’s life easier if you kept track of your belongings.”

Whatever impending argument was about to arise was stopped when Aizen asked, “Did it have a butterfly on it?”

Severus gave a slow blink as he processed the question. “It did,” he finally said, it that same slow, monotone voice.

“Then it seems Voldemort has gotten his hands on one of the last means of summoning us.” It didn’t take long for Aizen to explain. The artifact was old, older than anyone in the room and given to wizards back when Shinigami had been more interested in them as a means to learn more about their ghosts. When Soul Society decided to pull back, they had taken the artifacts, too. Only, they must have missed a few. These sorts of summonings weren’t normally forced upon the Shinigami, however. So Voldemort must have tweaked the ritual on his own.

“He said we had to obey him…” Ichigo muttered, scowl firmly in place.

“Yes,” Aizen said, “but what he did bond us to the true owner of the artifact instead of him.”

“You couldn’t have remembered all this earlier?” Ichigo asked, voice exasperated.

“It was hardly an important detail, even when I was studying the subject,” Aizen sniffed. “You should feel lucky I remembered it at all.”

“Yes, because anything that didn’t deal with usurping the Soul King wasn’t important.”

Aizen stared at him for a long moment, gaze deadpan, but the look didn’t last and Aizen was left rolling his eyes. “Regardless, the sooner we know your goals, Black, the quicker we can leave,” Aizen said, smiling the same fake smile that he used to when he was a captain. It had Ichigo’s skin crawling just looking at it.

“My goals…” Black ran a hand through his head as he sat forward, a thoughtful look on his face. “To clear my name so I can adopt Harry. To keep Harry safe, and to defeat Voldemort.”

Of course it couldn’t have been easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, hardly proofread, so if you notice any glaring errors please let me know ^^

There was a shift in the air around them.

Or, at least, Ichigo thought there was. Like something had clicked into place; that insistent, _annoying_ pull no longer itching under his skin. Now it was only a small pressure at the back of his mind. A reminder that there was work to be done. A glance at Aizen told him that he felt it too.

“That easy then, is it?” Black hummed, shifting to lean back in his seat. Ichigo felt his brow twitch at that.

“Is there a time limit, do we know?” Lupin asked, a frown on his face.

“Not unless we know what Voldemort changed about the ritual,” Aizen explained. “Although, I imagine it will end when we meet his goals.”

“It was my understanding that the Dark Lord intended to… employ you… indefinitely,” Snape said at length.

“Great,” Ichigo muttered. “So, where do we start?”

“Clearing his name,” the boy with glasses spoke up, a determined look in his eyes and a demanding tone to his voice. He only looked at Ichigo and Aizen long enough to know that they had heard before turning to Black himself, a challenging spark in his eyes.

“I’d rather they focus on keeping you safe, Harry.”

“There’s two of them,” Harry shot back, “I’m sure they can manage.”

Ichigo mentally snorted softly at that; the boy had a protective streak a mile wide, that was for sure. And Ichigo could understand that. If it were any of his friends or his sisters- his thoughts were cut short by Aizen’s bland; “I’ll be handling that, then.”

Ichigo first response, as most things with Aizen, was to argue. However, it only took a second of thought to realize how much better off Aizen would be at that. With his inclination for illusions he could probably brainwash the entire justice system.

“You’ll need to find good-old _Peter_ , then.” Black spat the name like it left a vile taste in his mouth.

“Peter Pettigrew,” Dumbledore clarified, ever-present twinkle in his eyes practically dancing. “Sirius here was framed by him for the betrayal of Harry’s parents to Tom.” The man turned to Snape before either he or Aizen could say anything, “Severus, have you seen him lately?”

Snape took a full few breaths to actually respond, and when he did it was with that same droll voice, like Yuzu’s especially thick molasses, “He was present at the meeting earlier.”

“Why haven’t you brought him in before?” Ichigo asked. If they knew where he was, and what’s more they had _magic;_ surely there was something that could help them there.

“We tried, he got away,” Harry said, anger clear in his voice but not directed at Ichigo.

“Yeah, when the rat was masquerading as my pet,” a redheaded boy next to Harry added.

“When he was _what_?” Ichigo sputtered.

“Peter’s an Animagus,” Lupin told them. At their blank looks he gave a half-smile, “He can change into an animal.”

Oh. Like Yoruichi then.

It didn’t take long for the discussion to devolve into a crash course on their ministry’s politics and laws. By the time it was over, Ichigo was left with far too many comparisons between the wizarding world and Soul Society’s own government’s abuse. When he said as much, Aizen sent him a rather imperious look. “And you wonder why I wanted to take over.”

“You can’t tell me you attacked Soul Society to… what, weed out corruption.”

“You think I did it for fun?”

“No,” Ichigo said, perhaps a bit too quickly and defensively. “To be Soul King.”

“And why would I want to be Soul King?”

“Your god complex,” he said, voice entirely deadpan.

Before Aizen could say anything, Crazy-eye interrupted them, “What the hell are you two talking about? Because to me it sounds like he tried to lead a rebellion that _you_ fought against.”

“That’s a long story,” Ichigo huffed, arms crossing. “And it’s…” he trailed off as he shot a quick glance at Aizen who was watching him with a schooled expression. “It’s all behind us, now.”

“How far behind?” Crazy-eye demanded; his one eye narrowing.

“Far enough.”

“Better be. Don’t go thinking that just because you agreed to help-”

“My friend, we should focus on the goals Sirius has laid out for now,” Dumbledore interrupted whatever threat was about to be spewed. It had Crazy-eye grumbling something that sounded suspiciously like _‘constant vigilance’_.

“On that note, as much as I love talking about giving Peter what he deserves,” Sirius started, “shouldn’t we talk about how they’re going to protect Harry? Hogwarts starts in two weeks and I doubt they’ll have Snake-face taken care of by then.”

“Really, Sirius, Snake-face?” Lupin muttered with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

“It has a nice ring to it,” Sirius sniffed. “Besides, they said it first.”

“I believe,” Dumbledore spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention, “that I may have a solution.” The man’s gaze rested firmly on Aizen and Ichigo then, smile a pleasant thing that reminded Ichigo far too much of Juushiro. “How do you two feel about teaching?”

Ichigo got the feeling they didn’t really have a choice.

By the time everything had been sorted out, it was well past midnight and Ichigo found himself leaning more and more heavily against Aizen who had settled down on the armrest of his chair. Even the kids who had at first been whispering amongst themselves and paying attention with rapt interest had settled onto the floor and were nodding off. When Mrs. Weasley finally announced that it was much too late to continue the discussion Ichigo had to all but drag himself up the stairs. Several flights of it, at that. He and Aizen were put into a room near the top of the home; one of the only ones left that had been cleaned according to Mrs. Weasley.

There was only one bed, but Ichigo didn’t care. They had shared closer quarters than this during the war. Besides, he didn’t have the energy to complain. So much so that he didn’t even remember hitting the mattress.

When he woke the next morning he was alone in the bed. For a moment he thought that Aizen hadn’t slept, but the sheets were rumpled and there was a slight impression on the other pillow that said otherwise. Pushing himself up, he found Aizen seated in a corner, book in hand. “How long have you been awake?”

“An hour or so,” Aizen said, glancing up from his book.

Ichigo hummed, tempted to sink back into the bed and doze for a while longer. Before he could make up his mind, a loud pop sounded through the room and a strange creature appeared. Ichigo let out a rather humiliating yelp as he tumbled out of bed, legs caught in the sheets in his scramble for Zangetsu.

“Kreacher was to tell guests that breakfast be ready,” the odd creature— _Kreacher_ —spoke.

“We will be right down,” Aizen said, and the thing popped away without another word. Aizen then turned to him, and the way his lips twitched…

“Shut up,” Ichigo said on principle.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“What _was_ that, anyway?” Ichigo asked after a moment of silence in which he pulled himself out of the tangle of sheets, face hopefully not as red as it felt.

“A house elf.”

“An... elf.” There was a beat were Ichigo was inexorably offended by how wrong Tolkien had been about elves. It didn’t last long, however, as he found himself rushing through his morning routine because he would rather not be late for breakfast as a guest here.

Breakfast itself was an array of dishes and as Ichigo stared down at what was undeniably _not_ his usual choices for the first meal of the day, it truly hit him. They were in _London._

“How far is the Globe Theatre from here?” he asked the table in general.

“Why?” a redhead who Ichigo learned was named Ron asked, only to be immediately sent a sharp look by Mrs. Weasley.

“I like Shakespeare and if I’m in London then I’m sure as hell seeing a play.”

“Who would have thought-”

“-Death Gods like Shakespeare. We should-”

“-Make T-shirts for that.”

“Can’t you just see him in the afterlife?” the bushy haired girl, Hermione, asked.

“You lose your memories when you die,” he said with a shrug. “Plus, Soul Society is pretty big. And there is always the chance he was already sent into the cycle for reincarnation.”

“Reincarnation is real?”

“Uh, yeah?” Ichigo didn’t even have to look to know that Aizen was rolling his eyes. “Look, no one really explained it to me, I just got dragged into all this Shinigami business to protect my friends. If you want answers, ask him,” he said, nodding towards Aizen.

The girl wasted no time. And Aizen, surprisingly, didn’t seem bothered at all.

“So,” Ron started, leaning forward, mouth still full, “do they have quidditch in the afterlife?”

“Uh, no?” he asked more than said. “I don’t think so. No one mentioned it, at least.” There were five horrified looks directed at him.

“Merlin, I never want to die,” Ron groaned, “they don’t even have _quidditch_!”

He scratched his cheek, “What is it anyway?”

“It’s only the _best_ sport ever,” Ginny told him, eyes getting the same fiery look that Karin’s got when talking about football. It wasn’t long before he was reeling from all the facts thrown at him. From how to play to the teams to the best players.

“Wait,” he said, trying to parse through it all, “so you _actually_ fly on broomsticks?”

“What else would we use to fly?” Ginny asked, brows furrowed.

That… Ichigo didn’t really know how to respond.

“How do Shinigami do it?” One of the twins asked, a glint in his eyes that said he was more interested in how to use it for mischief than anything else.

“We, uh… condense the reishi in the air and step on it.”

“You- _walk on air?!_ ” Ginny all but screeched. The conversations around them died as everyone at the table looked their way, Ichigo had the distinct urge to sink lower in his seat. “That’s bloody wicked! Can you teach us?”

Ichigo was pretty sure it said something that no one reprimanded the girl on her language.

“No,” Aizen said for him, “it’s unique to those who can manipulate reiatsu.”

The girl, along with the other redheads seemed to deflate at that. The excitement at the idea giving way under disappointment. “Oh…”

“Now, as I was saying,” Aizen said, turning back to Hermione, “we don’t live forever, simply for longer than living souls.”

“Is your aging slowed as well?”

“In a way. I myself am over two hundred. Most souls don’t become Shinigami until at least fifty.”

“Woah,” Ron choked, there were similar choking noises around the table, before the redhead turned to Ichigo, “how old are you, then?”

“Twenty-six,” he snorted, arms crossing.

“But he just said you can’t become a Shinigami until fifty,” Hermione huffed.

“I’m a bit of a special case,” he said with a shrug. “Technically I became a Shinigami at fifteen, but I didn’t die until I was twenty-two.”

“How’s that even possible?”

“Long story.” Ichigo looked down at the food on his plate. He wasn’t really looking to spill his life story to these people. Let alone tell them about the wars. Besides, he was certain they’d already realized _some_ of it after what Crazy-eye said last night in regards to the ‘rebellion’ Aizen had campaigned.

They seemed to get the hint, thankfully. However, it wasn’t until Aizen pressed slightly closer to him that the last of the tension really left his nerves alone.

The order members warned them before the left. Said that it was dangerous. Said that Voldemort and his Death Eaters—really _that_ was the name they went for?—might have left, and that they’d definitely set up wards. Nasty ones. The kind that aimed to maim and hurt so much you _wished_ they killed you. Told them that they might want to wait until night for better cover. Even offered to come along for back up. And as much as Ichigo appreciated the offer, he knew that it was better this way.

Besides, it ended up being far less troublesome than they’d been told. The wards were hardly noticed. A blip in his senses that grated his nerves but hardly _hurt._

In the end, they walked right through the front door.

Well, _phased_ through. Still, no one noticed them. Even as they passed by the occasional wizard or witch wandering the halls. To be fair, Aizen had wrapped them up in illusions. The ghosts of which flitted in the corner of his eyes. Just the barest hint of distortion.

Maybe it was the sheer arrogance that Snake-face exuded, or maybe wizards were just that stupid. Probably a bit of both, Ichigo decided. They hadn’t even bothered to change their base since the summoning. Hopefully that also meant that the Rat-guy was still here. They hadn’t seen him yet, but the place was massive.

They had just rounded a corner when a door was thrown open in front of them. A man with long blond hair stepped out, wand in hand and head on a—rather elegant—swivel. “There is no one here, M’Lord.”

Ichigo glanced at Aizen, who had a pensive frown, head tilted ever so slightly in thought. Before Ichigo could ask there was the rough sound of a chair scrapping and the blond man froze like a deer in headlights. “Fool,” the hissed voice of none other than Snake-face sounded, “did you even attempt a disillusionment charm?”

“M’Lord, the wards would have-”

A red light shot from inside the room, and the blond man was suddenly on the floor writhing in pain. Ichigo’s eyes went wide, his hands going for his blades. Within one second and the next he was across the space, Shiro already extended to press against the man’s throat. “Whatever you’re doing, stop now.”

There was an exaggerated sigh from behind him, and the distortions in the corner of his eye disappeared. “Really, Ichigo, he couldn’t even see or hear you.”

A collected murmur rung through the room, and even Snake-face took a step back. The surprise quickly turned to narrowed eyed satisfaction. “So you’ve realized the futility of running from this Lord.”

“What?” Ichigo had a _sword to his neck_ , and he thought- _what?!_ Speaking of, the man _dared_ to reach out and _touch_ Shiro. It had Ichigo reeling back, not because of the audacity but because of the sheer _wrongness_ that licked down his spine. A concentrated roll of his stomach that had his head swimming and nerves alight in a way all too similar to the wards. Shiro howled in his mind, rearing to break through and Ichigo was tempted to let him.

“There’s no need to worry, I am a merciful Lord,” the man-snake- _thing_ continued, raising his wand. Ichigo prepared for an attack but it never came, instead the blond man stilled behind him. “Isn’t that right, Lucius?”

The man dragged himself to his feet, and even though Ichigo could see the tremors still running through him, the kind that belayed the severity of the _torture,_ the man still nodded his head, “Yes, M’Lord.”

Ichigo’s gaze swept over to Aizen whose own face was carefully blank. Voldemort must have followed his gaze, because the man let out a soft hiss that may have meant to be thoughtful. “You shall join us,” Snake-face took a sweeping step back and to the side, gesturing rather dramatically towards the meeting room.

The same meeting room where the Rat-guy was currently cowering against a chair.

Great.

Aizen came up beside him then, casting him a pointed look that had him rolling his eyes but sheathing his swords all the same. If he wanted to play along, then fine. Whatever got them away from the torture-happy, deranged cult faster. They entered the room, but didn’t sit. Snake-face, on the other hand, rather pointedly lounged back in what could only be called a throne. It nearly had Ichigo snorting.

When they were addressed again, Snake-face looked at Aizen, dismissing Ichigo as, what, a lacky? A subordinate? He would have been more annoyed if he’d actually _wanted_ the attention. Let Aizen deal with it. “As I told your companion, I have summoned you to help achieve my goals of uniting Britain under my rule and ridding this world of muggles.”

Yeah. No. Ichigo would rather _not_ deal with wizard-Hitler over there. Instead, he moved around the room, taking in the portraits and the decorations. One in particular caught his eye; a strange rock, pale and sandy and slightly crumbled, protected by glass. It looked suspiciously like-

“You shouldn’t touch that.” A voice said from behind him, and Ichigo turned to find a blonde woman twisted around in her seat. “Most of the objects here are cursed.”

He looked back at the stone. It didn’t _look_ cursed, but then again, what did he know about magic? Even if it _was_ applied to a rock that definitely came from Hueco Mundo. “Thanks for the warning,” he said.

The woman tipped her head slightly in acknowledgement before turning back around.

“And how _did_ you manage that?” Aizen hummed, his I’m-better-than-you smile still firmly in place. “Butterfly-boxes aren’t meant to summon more than one of us, and do not force us to help.”

“A ritual of my own design,” Snake-face said, tipping his head up in egotistic pride. The same pride that had him explaining said ritual because _clearly_ there could be no flaws in it for them to exploit. It dealt with moon cycles and hours and the alignment of the stars. There was something about blood and sacrifice and he got the sick feeling that they had killed something—or _someone_ —to get them here.

“And if we refuse?” Aizen asked after the explanation was over.

“I summoned you, you must obey me.”

“The same way we obeyed before?”

“Then I will kill you both and summon someone who will.”

Ichigo couldn’t help but snort at that, “I don’t know a single Shinigami who’d be willing to help you.”

“Oh?” Snake-face tilted his head, eye narrowing with a dangerous gleam as he fingered his wand.

“Do you even understand the ramifications of a genocide on that scale?” Aizen raised a brow, as if he himself hadn’t planned a massacre—albeit a smaller one. “You mortals think you know everything about life and death, but you know _nothing._ ”

“ _I_ am Lord Voldemort,” the man hissed, “I who conquered death. I who forced Death Gods onto this plain. I am no _mortal_.”

“You’re right,” Aizen hummed. “With how you were able to sense us you must have a foot in the grave already. Less than mortal.”

 _That_ got a reaction. Snake-face stilled for a moment. In fact, the entire room held its breath. And then a green beam was cracking across the table straight at what would have been Aizen should the man not have pulled an illusion up and stepped aside. The green light hit ‘Aizen’ head on, and the dramatic bastard only smirked. Imperious and smug. “Was that supposed to do something?”

The rage that filled Snake-face’s expression at that was visceral.


End file.
